


Stay

by rubygirl29



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Clint Barton is an olympic athlete, M/M, Phil Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1302247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The winter has been hard on Phil. Trying to find a  job and a place to live while settling into civilian life are stressful. He really doesn't need cold and snow. Phil thinks he's fine, really. It's the drag of winter, the cold air in his lungs, the ache in his bones, the long dark days without sun. That's all it is. Nobody has ever said Phil is an optimist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Technically part of my 2014 holiday AU where Clint is a former Olympic medalist and Phil is an honorably discharged Army Ranger. However we're moving away from the holidays and on to everyday life.
> 
> Previous works in this AU:
> 
> [ Blue Christmas](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1103983)
> 
> [ Coffee and Champagne](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1153525?view_adult=true)  
> 

_Funny you're the broken one but I'm the only one who needed saving_

He's fine. Really. It's the drag of winter, the cold air in his lungs, the ache in his bones, the long dark days without sun, that leave him feeling older than his years and exhausted. That's all it is. He's coming from another job interview and is disheartened by the fact that this company was looking for nothing but a glorified security guard. It's a job for somebody on the way up, or on the way to retirement. It's not for him. It's the third dispiriting interview this week. 

He doesn't have a place of his own. He is still at Barton's, and it would be so easy to slide into his life. Phil's pride won't let it be that easy; not that Barton would kick him out onto the streets. He doesn't want to wear out his welcome because he really _likes_ Clint. It just feels like Phil is taking advantage of their relationship to have a roof over his head. After twenty years in the Army, Phil wants a home.

He slogs through the slush and ice, grateful that he had the presence of mind to wear his old boots to and from the interview. His trousers are salt-stained and clammy. Too bad he couldn't wear his BDUs. He shivers and sneezes. His throat is raspy and he feels feverish. He can't afford to be sick, and he feels worse for bringing his germs home to Clint. A fine house guest he is. 

He finally makes it to the subway, waiting in the tunnel with a crowd of people who look as miserable as he feels. Welcome to winter in New York once the glitter and glamour of the holidays are over. He gets off at the stop closest to Clint's loft and endures the hard half mile walk in the sleet. When he finally reaches Clint's building and opens the door, the rush of warm air nearly brings him to his knees. He leans against the outer door for a moment until his body decides to cooperate. He debates going up to the loft, but the aroma of burgers and fries from the bar lures him inside. 

The bar is nearly deserted at this time of day. Phil isn't much of a drinker, and not at three o'clock in the afternoon, but right now, he wants a bourbon on the rocks so badly he can taste it. "Hey, Phil, you all right, buddy?" The bartender, Jake, motions him over. 

"Cold," Phil says, and that one word just sums it all up; the weather, his job prospects, his aching body, even the state of his health, since his throat now feels like it's been scoured with sandpaper. 

"I got something for that." 

Phil sits at the long bar, watching while Jake pours from a bottle of top-shelf bourbon. "I can't take that," he says, his voice hoarse with his imminent cold. 

Jake ignores him. "Sure you can. You've earned it, and right now, you look like you've been through the wars all over again." He pushes the glass over to Phil. 

Phil breathes in the smoky-sweet aroma and takes a sip. It burns down his throat and gullet in the best way. "Thank you." 

"Hey, your boy is coming in. He'll take care of you." 

Clint is nothing like a boy, Phil thinks as he turns to watch Barton prowl towards him. He's wearing a deep amethyst sweater that does amazing things for his eyes, and perfect jeans. Even if the room had been filled with people, he would have drawn their gazes like a magnet. Now, it's just Phil and he still can't believe this man is in his life. 

Clint's eyes narrow as he gets closer. "You look like hell," he says, but his voice is warm with concern. "Bad interview?"

"That depends. If I wanted to be a rent-a-cop, it went great. I was hoping for something … more." He shakes his head. "I don't know, maybe that's what a broken down Ranger is worth these days."

"The guy was an asshole, plain and simple. You're better off without that shit." Clint settles next to Phil and Jake sets a glass in front of him. He pours another bourbon for Phil, then Clint. "You know that, right?"

"Maybe." He sneezes and shivers. 

Clint digs in his pocket for a twenty and sets it on the bar to pay for the bottle. He takes the two glasses and the bottle, managing not to drop them and look graceful at the same time. "Let's go, Phil."

He isn't sure he wants to move, or if he can move, but he does, following Clint upstairs to the loft. Clint points to the guest room where Phil's things are, even if he's spending the nights in Clint's bed. "Take a hot shower, put on warm clothes and we'll talk."

Phil gives him a salute, "Yes, sir." He can feel the weight of Barton's gaze as he stumbles his way to the bedroom. Ten minutes later, he's still upright and somewhat warmer. Clint has lit his gas fireplace; the heat and light draw Phil to the sofa where Clint is sitting. Two glasses of bourbon are on the coffee table. Phil isn't sure that's a good idea, but being next to Clint is definitely the best offer he's had all day. Clint hands him a glass, then leans back, inviting Phil to rest against his side. Warily, he settles there.

"I know Tony Stark," Clint says. 

Phil blinks at him. "Yeah?"

"Tony's always looking for good people." 

Phil's answer is a sneeze. He blows his nose and shakes his head. "I can't think straight. I can't come at this with a mind as clogged up as my sinuses. I'm going to bed." He manages to get to his feet. 

"My bed?" Clint looks hopeful.

"No, I need my rest tonight and you don't need my germs." 

"So I'll take zinc." He smiles, but he looks worried and Phil shakes his head. 

"No. Really. I'm miserable." He raises a weary hand. "I might see you later, but I have a feeling I'm gonna crash for a while."

"I've got to spend some time at the rec center, so if you wake up and I'm not here —"

"I'll be fine," he sneezes again. 

"I'll pick up some cold meds."

"I'm not allergic to anything," Phil adds helpfully. "Get something strong."

"You got it. I'll be back later, okay?"

Phil just shuffles off to the guest room. He hears Clint moving around the apartment, then the door closing. That's the last thing he remembers before he's out like a light. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Clint didn't lie. He does go to the rec center to shoot targets with the kids, but cuts his afternoon shor, promising the kids extra time next week. He stops in at Les Trois Demoiselles for coffee. Today, Natasha is at the register. She gives him a small smile. "Haven't seen you here for a while."

Clint feels his cheeks warm. "Umm, well … I have a life."

"And that life includes a former Army Ranger with blue eyes and a really nice smile?"

Clint can't help grinning. "You know it does." 

"Where is he today?"

"Home, with a bad cold."

"We have chicken and dumpling soup." Natasha's suggestion sounds more like an order.

"Great. I'll have two bowls to go in about an hour. And two slices of that blueberry cream cake. I've got an appointment, but I'll pick them up on my way home."

Natasha keeps looking at him. "You've only known him a few days."

"I have pretty good instincts about people. I can tell he's a good guy who's having a hard time. He's been job-hunting and it seems like just because he was in the Army people think all he's good for is carrying a gun. He was a major in an elite army corps - you don't get there by just being able to shoot straight."

Nat gives him a sad smile. "It's a rough world we live in."

Clint, whose life is the easiest it's been for a very long time, has to agree. "I'll be back in an hour. Right now I'll have a medium black coffee and a large toasted coconut macchiato with an extra shot and caramel drizzle."

Nat raises her brow. "Somebody wants to rot their teeth."

"He can afford to buy new ones," Clint laughs, thinking of Tony Stark's ridiculous love of tooth-rottingly sweet coffee in the mid-afternoon. "This is a bribe."  
"Hmm, calling in a favor?" She caps the cups and he puts them in a carrier for him. "Good luck."

"I hope so." 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Tony Stark is in his workshop, which Clint finds terrifying and fascinating in equal measure. Stark, with heavy metal blaring in the background and wearing welding goggles is oblivious to Clint until one of his 'bots pokes him in the arm. 

"Hey, Dummy, I'm at work. You know the rules."

"Sir," Jarvis' mellifluous voice comes over the speakers. "Mr. Barton is here."

Stark turns off his torch and raises his glasses. "Hey, Hawkeye. Did we have an appointment today? Jarvis, you're falling down on the job — "

"No appointment. Just dropped in."

"Nobody just 'drops in.'" Tony says as he wipes his hands on a greasy rag. "What's the story, Legolas?"

Clint rolls his eyes at Tony's ridiculous nicknames. At least it wasn't Katnis this time. "I have a favor —"

"No, you can't have invisible arrows to scare the kids at the center with." He looks at Clint's face and must see something there because he puts the rag aside and goes to his mini-fridge to take out two bottles of water. He tosses one to Clint. "Okay. What can I do for you?"

"Not for me, exactly. I have a friend, a guy. He's former military. He was a major in the Rangers, but he was pretty badly wounded — nothing that will keep him from working or scare people with PTSD episodes — but he's having a hard time finding a good job. He's more than a rent-a-cop, which is what he's being offered, if that."

"Uh-huh." Tony eyes him shrewdly and Clint can feel his cheeks flush. "You know Hap Hogan oversees security for Stark, and he hires his own people. I'm the brains, he's the brawn."

Clint knows he looks crestfallen. He's not ashamed of it. He'd beg Stark to hire Phil if he thought it would help, but underneath Tony's wild playboy ways and his quicksilver, quixotic mind, he's a pragmatist and sentimentality doesn't fit into that equation. "Thanks, Tony. I understand."

Tony holds up a hand. "Wait, Barton. Just because I'm not looking for somebody like your friend, doesn't mean I'm going to throw him under the bus. Rhodey would look at me with those big brown eyes and make me feel like a piece of gum stuck on his shoe. I know a guy … scariest dude I've ever met, but he works for some sort of super-secret government agency. I'll give him a call, tall him about your friend … umm …"

"Coulson, Phil Coulson." Clint takes out his phone and texts Phil's contact information to Tony. 

"Got it. Now about this idea I have for a new bow — you know you want to see it, right?"

Of course, he does. He stays for an hour. "Don't forget," he reminds Tony as he puts his coat on.

Tony places his hand over his heart. "You wound me, Barton." Clint knows that under the AC/DC tee shirt, Stark bears a scar and a pacemaker powered by an experimental battery he invented himself. Phil's scar is nearly identical. 

"Thank you," Clint says sincerely. A visit with Tony takes some time to recover from, so he walks to Les Trois Demoiselles. Natasha is gone, and Darcy is at the register. 

"Hey, Clint. What's shakin'? Where's the light of your life?"

Clint knows she means well. "He's home, sick with a cold. That's why I'm picking up soup and blueberry cream cakes."

"Good choice." She packs up his order. "Tell that handsome guy to get well soon. You two are so cute together."

Clint tries not to laugh or blush. It's just Darcy. "I will. Take care, Darcy-girl."

"That's Darcy-woman to you, babe. Don't you forget it." She pokes him in the chest and Clint winces. She has fingernails like daggers. She laughs like Maleficent. Clint takes his food and flees.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Two days later, Phil is more or less upright and coherent when he gets a call from a Nick Fury, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. The funny thing is, that he actually _knows_ Fury from his early army days, before he was a Ranger. Fury was a Lieutenant Colonel and made every soldier under his command quake with fear. Phil admired that, but he didn't have the stature or the authority to pull it off. That was when he was a lowly lieutenant. By the time he was a Major, he had discovered his own superpowers — be accessible to his team, look harmless, and shoot the eye out of a Taliban at 1500 yards on a moonlit night. Okay, maybe more of the latter than the former, but he wasn't ashamed of his kindness or his ability to intimidate. 

He can't intimidate Fury, but he can respect the hell out of the man. "Yes, sir. I'll be there tomorrow at eleven hundred hours. Good to hear from you, too, sir." He puts his phone down and looks at Clint, who is lounging against the counter, trying not to seem interested in the conversation. 

"So? Job interview?" 

"Funny how an old Army acquaintance just _happened_ to have my phone number. He also _happens_ to know Tony Stark, who just _happens_ to know you." 

"Umm … coincidence?"

Phil sighs, but he gets off the couch and stands close to Clint. "Yeah, coincidence." He runs a finger down Clint's stubbled cheek. "I don't know what you did, but thank you."

Clint shrugs. "I might have mentioned you to Tony Stark," he says hesitantly, because he really doesn't want to fuck this up. "So, you're not mad?"

Phil would laugh if Clint didn't look so … so hopeful, so wary. "Clint, you've known me for all of three weeks. In that time you've rescued me three times. I think that precludes any anger on my part."

"Wait — you _know_ Nick Fury?" Clint's mouth finally catches up to his brain. 

"From the great distance of a lowly lieutenant to a full bird Colonel."

"I swear Tony did not know that," Clint says. 

"See, it really is coincidence. But it's not an interview. I start on Monday."

Clint's whole face lights up. "Here, in New York?"

"Most of the time. I'll have to find a place —"

"You have a place. Here, with me. I want you to stay."

"You've known me for three weeks, Clint. I'm not an easy person to live with."

"I don't have a problem with that."

Phil gives him a wry smile. "I don't want to risk it — risk this." He kisses Clint. "So, help me find a place?"

"In walking distance," Clint bargains, his arms looped around Phil's waist. "And we spend weekends together."

It's a plan Phil can live with for now, though with the way Clint is looking at him, he thinks he might go for a short term lease. "I think we deserve a celebration."

"More than one, but first … this." He holds out his hand and when Phil takes it, he pulls him towards the bedroom. Clint loves the way Phil tastes, the way he fights back just enough, the way he is gentle with Clint, yet fierce when it comes to what he wants. 

What Clint wants is for Phil to stay, to make love with him every night, to wake next to and have sleepy morning sex with him for the rest of his life. Clint isn't about to give up on any of that. He stretches out, rubs the arch of his foot against Phil's shin. Phil turns his head, smiles. His eyes are breathtakingly blue and so kind and warm. "What?" he asks.

"Ask me again in six months, after I've got my boots on the ground and get adjusted to civilian life and this new job, and if you still want me, I'll stay."

"Do I get that in writing?"

"My word is my bond," Phil smirks slightly. "I will, however, buy you coffee and cinnamon crunch donuts at _Les Trois Demoiselles_ as a proof of my word of honor."

"Tempting." Clint kisses his way across Phil's clavicle. His lips rest on the hollow at the base of Phil's throat. He can feel the pulse flutter against his lips. It's erotic, intimate, arousing. If he weren't so sated he'd pursue that idea, but Phil's voice is drowsy and his fingers are threading softly through Clint's hair, warm and soothing. Clint sighs and burrows closer. "Maybe tomorrow," he sighs. 

"Maybe." He thinks of going to see Director Fury and knows that they won't go tomorrow, but they have time. All the time in the world. Clint snuffles softly and mumbles a 'goodnight' against Phil's throat. 

Phil doesn't know how three weeks turned into eternity, or how an act of kindness turned into love. He sighs. He's too sleepy to ponder the puzzle. He glances over to make sure the alarm is set, then settles deeper into the pillows while Clint's breath brushes his shoulder. "Goodnight, Clint," he whispers. 

**The End**


End file.
